The Three Clerks I

THE THREE CLERKS

the huge bucket came tumbling down, nearly on their heads. Poor Neverbend was all but lifted into it. Where now was all the pride of the morn that had seen him go forth the great dictator of the mines? Where was that towering spirit with which he had ordered his tea and toast, and rebuked the slowness of his charioteer? Where the ambition that had soared so high over the pet of the Weights and Measures? Alas, alas! how few of us there are who have within us the courage to be great in adversity. ‘Aequam memento’ — &c., &c.! — if thou couldst but have thought of it, O Neverbend, who need’st must some day die.

But Neverbend did not think of it. How few of us do remember such lessons at those moments in which they ought to be of use to us! He was all but lifted into the tub, and then out of it, and then again into another, till he reached the upper world, a sight piteous to behold. His spectacles had gone from him, his cap covered his eyes, his lamp had reversed itself, and soft globules of grease had fallen on his nose, he was bathed in perspiration, and was nevertheless chilled through to his very bones, his whiskers were fringed with mud, and his black cravat had been pulled from his neck and lost in some infernal struggle. Nevertheless, the moment in which he seated himself on a hard stool in that rough shed was perhaps the happiest in his life; some Christian brought him beer; had it been nectar from the brewery of the gods, he could not have drunk it with greater avidity.

By slow degrees he made such toilet as circumstances allowed, and then had himself driven back to Tavistock, being no more willing to wait for Tudor now than he had been in

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the early morning. But Jehu found him much more reasonable on his return; and as that respectable functionary pocketed his half-crown, he fully understood the spirit in which it was given. Poor Neverbend had not now enough pluck left in him to combat the hostility of a post-boy.

Alaric, who of course contrived to see all that was to be seen, and learn all that was to be learnt, in the dark passages of the tin mine, was careful on his return to use his triumph with the greatest moderation. His conscience was, alas, burdened with the guilty knowledge of Undy’s shares. When he came to think of the transaction as he rode leisurely back to Tavistock, he knew how wrong he had been, and yet he felt a kind of triumph at the spoil which he held; for he had heard among the miners that the shares of Mary Jane were already going up to some incredible standard of value. In this manner, so said he to himself, had all the great minds of the present day made their money, and kept themselves afloat. ‘Twas thus he tried to comfort himself; but not as yet successfully.

There were no more squabbles between Mr. Neverbend and Mr. Tudor; each knew that of himself, which made him bear and forbear; and so the two Commissioners returned to town on good terms with each other, and Alaric wrote a report, which delighted the heart of Sir Gregory Hardlines, ruined the opponents of the great tin mine, and sent the Mary Jane shares up, and up, and up, till speculating men thought that they could not give too high a price to secure them.

Alaric returned to town on Friday. It had been arranged that he, and Charley, and Norman, should all go down to Hampton on the Saturday; and then, on the following week,

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the competitive examination was to take place. But Alaric’s first anxiety after his return was to procure the £206, which he had to pay for the shares which he held in his pocket-book. He all but regretted, as he journeyed up to town, with the now tame Fidus seated opposite to him, that he had not disposed of them at Tavistock even at half their present value, so that he might have saved himself the necessity of being a borrower, and have wiped his hands of the whole affair.

He and Norman dined together at their club in Waterloo Place, the Pythagorean, a much humbler establishment than that patronized by Scott, and one that was dignified by no politics. After dinner, as they sat over their pint of sherry, Alaric made his request.

‘Harry,’ said he, suddenly, ‘you are always full of money — I want you to lend me £150.’

Norman was much less quick in his mode of speaking than his friend, and at the present moment was inclined to be somewhat slower than usual. This affair of the examination pressed upon his spirits, and made him dull and unhappy. During the whole of dinner he had said little or nothing, and had since been sitting listlessly gazing at vacancy, and balancing himself on the hind-legs of his chair.

‘O yes — certainly,’ said he; but he said it without the eagerness with which Alaric thought that he should have answered his request.

‘If it’s inconvenient, or if you don’t like it,’ said Alaric, the blood mounting to his forehead, ‘it does not signify. I can do without it.’

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‘I can lend it you without any inconvenience,’ said Harry. ‘When do you want it — not to-night, I suppose?’

‘No — not to-night — I should like to have it early to-mor- row morning; but I see you don’t like it, so I’ll manage it some other way.’

‘I don’t know what you mean by not liking it. I have not the slightest objection to lending you any money I can spare. I don’t think you’ll find any other of your friends who will like it better. You can have it by eleven o’clock to-morrow.’

Intimate as the two men were, there had hitherto been very little borrowing or lending between them; and now Alaric felt as though he owed it to his intimacy with his friend to explain to him why he wanted so large a sum in so short a time. He felt, moreover, that he would not himself be so much ashamed of what he had done if he could confess it to some one else. He could then solace himself with the reflection that he had done nothing secret. Norman, he supposed, would be displeased; but then Norman’s displeasure could not injure him, and with Norman there would be no danger that the affair would go any further.

‘You must think it very strange,’ said he, ‘that I should want such a sum; but the truth is I have bought some shares.’

‘Railway shares?’ said Norman, in a tone that certainly did not signify approval. He disliked speculation altogether, and had an old-fashioned idea that men who do speculate, should have money wherewith to do it.

‘No — not railway shares exactly.’ ‘Canal?’ suggested Norman.

‘No — not canal.’

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‘Gas?’

‘Mines,’ said Alaric, bringing out the dread truth at last. Harry Norman’s brow grew very black. ‘Not that mine that

you’ve been down about, I hope,’ said he.

‘Yes — that very identical Mary Jane that I went down, and down about,’ said Alaric, trying to joke on the subject. ‘Don’t look so very black, my dear fellow. I know all that you have to say upon the matter. I did what was very foolish, I dare say; but the idea never occurred to me till it was too late, that I might be suspected of making a false report on the subject, because I had embarked a hundred pounds in it.’

‘Alaric, if it were known —’

‘Then it mustn’t be known,’ said Tudor. ‘I am sorry for it; but, as I told you, the idea didn’t occur to me till it was too late. The shares are bought now, and must be paid for to-mor- row. I shall sell them the moment I can, and you shall have the money in three or four days.’

‘I don’t care one straw about the money,’ said Norman, now quick enough, but still in great displeasure; ‘I would give double the amount that you had not done this.’

‘Don’t be so suspicious, Harry,’ said the other —’don’t try to think the worst of your friend. By others, by Sir Gregory Hardlines, Neverbend, and such men, I might expect to be judged harshly in such a matter. But I have a right to expect that you will believe me. I tell you that I did this inadvertently, and am sorry for it; surely that ought to be sufficient.’

Norman said nothing more; but he felt that Tudor had done that which, if known, would disgrace him for ever. It might, however, very probably never be known; and it might also be

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but that she had other Charleys to her bow. When he found himself getting into a first-class carriage at the Waterloobridge station with his two comrades, he began to appreciate the comfort of decency, and almost wished that he also had been brought up among the stern morals and hard work of the Weights and Measures.

Nothing special occurred at Surbiton Cottage. It might have been evident to a watchful bystander that Alaric was growing in favour with all the party, excepting Mrs. Woodward, and that, as he did so, Harry was more and more cherished by her.

This was specially shown in one little scene. Alaric had brought down with him to Hampton the documents necessary to enable him to draw out his report on Mary Jane. Indeed, it was all but necessary that he should do so, as his coming examination would leave him but little time for other business during the week. On Saturday night he sat up at his inn over the papers, and on Sunday morning, when Mrs. Woodward and the girls came down, ready bonneted, for church, he signified his intention of remaining at his work.

‘I certainly think he might have gone to church,’ said Mrs. Woodward, when the hall-door closed behind the party, as they started to their place of worship.

‘Oh! mamma, think how much he has to do,’ said Gertrude. ‘Nonsense,’ said Mrs. Woodward; ‘it’s all affectation, and he ought to go to church. Government clerks are not worked so

hard as all that; are they, Harry?’

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‘Alaric is certainly very busy, but I think he should go to church all the same,’ said Harry, who himself never omitted divine worship.

‘But surely this is a work of necessity?’ said Linda. ‘Fiddle-de-de,’ said Mrs. Woodward; ‘I hate affectation, my

dear. It’s very grand, I dare say, for a young man’s services to be in such request that he cannot find time to say his prayers. He’ll find plenty of time for gossiping by and by, I don’t doubt.’ Linda could say nothing further, for an unbidden tear moistened her eyelid as she heard her mother speak so harshly of her lover. Gertrude, however, took up the cudgels for him,

and so did Captain Cuttwater.

‘I think you are a little hard upon him, mamma,’ said Gertrude, ‘particularly when you know that, as a rule, he always goes to church. I have heard you say yourself what an excellent churchman he is.’

‘Young men change sometimes,’ said Mrs. Woodward. ‘Upon my word, Bessie, I think you are very unchari-

table this fine Sunday morning,’ said the captain. ‘I wonder how you’ll feel if we have that chapter about the beam and the mote.’

Mrs. Woodward did not quite like being scolded by her uncle before her daughters, but she said nothing further. Katie, however, looked daggers at the old man from out her big bright eyes. What right had any man, were he ever so old, ever so much an uncle, to scold her mamma? Katie was inclined to join her mother and take Harry Norman’s side, for it was Harry Norman who owned the boat.

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They were now at the church door, and they entered without saying anything further. Let us hope that charity, which surpasseth all other virtues, guided their prayers while they were there, and filled their hearts. In the meantime Alaric, unconscious how he had been attacked and how defended, worked hard at his Tavistock notes.

Mrs. Woodward was quite right in this, that the Commissioner of the Mines, though he was unable to find time to go to church, did find time to saunter about with the girls before dinner. Was it to be expected that he should not do so? for what other purpose was he there at Hampton?

They were all very serious this Sunday afternoon, and Katie could make nothing of them. She and Charley, indeed, went off by themselves to a desert island, or a place that would have been a desert island had the water run round it, and there built stupendous palaces and laid out glorious gardens. Charley was the most good-natured of men, and could he have only brought a boat with him, as Harry so often did, he would soon have been first favourite with Katie.

‘It shan’t be at all like Hampton Court,’ said Katie, speaking of the new abode which Charley was to build for her.

‘Not at all,’ said Charley. ‘Nor yet Buckingham Palace.’

‘No,’ said Charley, ‘I think we’ll have it Gothic.’

‘Gothic!’ said Katie, looking up at him with all her eyes. ‘Will Gothic be most grand? What’s Gothic?’

Charley began to consider. ‘Westminster Abbey,’ said he at last.

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